


Sometimes (when I look deep in your eyes I can see your soul)

by isitandwonder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:30:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6989038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simply pwp, inspired by a conversation on tumblr encompassing stubble burn and discipline. The person I wrote this for knows what I mean...<br/>Sorry, neither beta'd nor brit picked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes (when I look deep in your eyes I can see your soul)

Sometimes, when Sherlock is in desperate need for skin-to-skin contact, instead of asking John simply for what he wants he riles him up rather badly. This might involve woollen jumpers dissolved in acid, badly mutilated body parts forgotten on the kitchen table or even minor indoor explosions. Sherlock always makes sure that John will encounter his violations but instead of apologising he will act just blasé or feign ignorance, asking for some tea instead.

Tin these circumstances John will go from raging to silent fuming until he encounters the slight flush to Sherlock's cheeks, his bopping Adam's apple while swallowing and the bulge that's impossible to hide in the tight bespoke trousers Sherlock prefers. 

And John will know; John will understand. Because he loves Sherlock; he knows what Sherlock needs – not immediately or always but from time to time.

That's why John will stand a little taller, fix Sherlock with a stern gaze and tell him in a firm voice: “Sherlock, your behaviour is unacceptable and calls for strict measures. You know that, don't you?”

Sherlock will just give the smallest nod to this but it will be enough for heat to pool low in John's belly...

\------------

When John comes home to 221b this evening Sherlock has 'accidentally' blown up pig intestines in their kitchen. Every surface is covered with a grimy darkish substance; John nearly slips on the floor and has to grab the counter to keep his balance. His hand makes contact with something soft and sticky and John quickly removes it without looking. The flat smells like an abattoir. But instead of scrubbing the floor Sherlock loiters on the couch, one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes, the other one dangling off the sofa.

“Sherlock, what the fuck...!”

“We should order in,” is the bored answer he gets.

“What have you done? No, don't tell me, I don't want to know... GOD!”

“Thai or Chinese? Something vegetarian probably?”

“I'm not... we are not... Jesus...” Wiping his fingers with his handkerchief, John gazes around, trying to access the devastation. But then he suddenly realises; Sherlock's chest is heaving and his silk dressing gown does a very bad job at hiding his arousal.

“Are you naked under that poncy robe?”

“Well, as you have taken in the state of the kitchen, what do you expect my clothes to look like? I fear the suit might actually be past saving. Bodily fluids do ruin even the finest fabric.”

Sherlock emphasises the phrase _bodily fluids_ in a very suggestive manner. John gets a pretty good idea what course the evening will take.

“So you changed out of your fancy gear but then you were too exhausted to clean up our fucking kitchen?”

“More or less.” Sherlock sighs, removing his arm and looking at John rather expectantly. His eyes are dark, betraying the arrogant smirk plastered on his face. 

John squares his shoulders and plants feet firmly on the carpet, clasping his hands behind his back. His voice is unwavering when he demands: “Get up.”

And Sherlock does. He sits up and his dressing gown parts in the middle.

“I said up!” John orders and Sherlock gets to his feet in one flowing motion, the silk sliding from one shoulder, exposing his delicate white skin.

With a few quick steps John comes to stand in front of Sherlock. He has to tilt his head up to look Sherlock in the face; his staunch expression wipes the smirk instantly away.

“We talked about this, Sherlock. You make a mess, you clean it up. Or have you forgotten?”

Sherlock swallows hard but says nothing in response.

“You remember the last time? I honestly thought you'd learned your lesson.”

A visible shiver runs through Sherlock's body.

“If chiding doesn't help, you force me to adopt other measures. You do understand that, don't you.”

Sherlock gives a small nod. “Yes, John.” His voice is tight.

John allows his eyes to wander down Sherlock exquisite body. A soft pink flush is spreading down his long neck. His engorged cock juts out of a nest of wiry dark curls between his slim thighs.

John licks his lips. “I'll have to put the ring on you before you get too excited. Where is it?” 

“Desk drawer.”

John walks over to retrieve the silver cock ring from among the clutter accumulated in Sherlock's desk.

His fingers are gentle when he puts it on Sherlock's cock.

“You understand why I have to do this, don't you?”

“Because I have to focus on the task ahead.”

“Exactly.” It pays off to fuck a genius. “And what will that task be, Sherlock?”

“To make it up to you?”

“What for exactly?”

“For my... inconsiderate behaviour?”

“You acted like a right arse, Sherlock. A pompous, pretentious prick. But we both know you have a taste for that, don't you?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock pants. His cheeks are burning crimson as he tries to avert his eyes.

“Look at me!” John raises his voice and takes Sherlock's chin in hand, forcing him to make eye contact. “I want you on your knees, begging me for my cock. Do you get that?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock slides down gracefully. “Please, let me suck your cock.”

John deftly unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down with his pants. He steps out of them before sitting down on the sofa. As he leans back and lets his legs fall open Sherlock shuffles forward and eagerly takes John's semi-erect cock into his hot, wet mouth. John lets his head sink against the backrest, closes his eyes and gives himself over to the ridiculous pleasure he gets from Sherlock giving him head.

Sherlock lets his lips slide over John's shaft, sucking him to full hardness. He can taste the salty pre-come, smell John's musk and the sensation makes him feel dizzy but the cock ring prevents him from chasing his relieve. He's just here to satisfy John and he will do so as long as John wants him to.

As Sherlock takes him deeper into his mouth John can feel the tingling sensation of Sherlock's faint stubble chafing against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. It's not unpleasant at all. In fact, the slight friction only arouses John more.

“Look at me.” John gasps and Sherlock does, staring up at John from under his long black lashes, never removing his mouth from John's cock. He sucks with abandon, swallowing John down to the hilt. He's not gagging; Sherlock is able to relax his throat enough to take John all the way in without undignified spluttering.

John is so turned on by the debauched sight that he fears instant combustion. His hips thrust involuntarily, pushing even deeper into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock's eyes start to water but he doesn't protest, just takes it, wanting to be used.

Eventually John grabs Sherlock's hair and pulls him of, panting hard. Sherlock's chin is glistening wet with saliva but that doesn't stop John from pulling him up into a messy kiss. It's all tongue and almost more biting than kissing but John can't hold back. He needs to convey his passion and love for this ridiculous, beautiful man.

The dressing gown has long since slid from Sherlock's body and now pools around his knees on the carpet. John lets his hands roam Sherlock's back, his shoulders, grabbing his arse and almost lifting him up.

“Come on, I need to fuck you, now!” He urges as Sherlock straddles him. They are still kissing, not as deep as before but more tenderly while John brushes his fingertips over Sherlock's cleft.

“Lube?” he asks and Sherlock starts to blindly search beneath the cushions, his hands scrambling impatiently until he unearths a white tube.  
“Prepare yourself for me.” John whispers against Sherlock's lips and Sherlock squints a generous dollop onto his fingers before smearing the cold gel between his cheeks.

“Are you ready?”

As an answer Sherlock moans into John's mouth and then he can feel the fat head of John's cock push against his entrance. 

Sherlock wants to push down straight away as John breaches him but John, sensing his impatience, grabs his hips to hold Sherlock still.

“Careful,” he murmurs, taking his time to slide slowly into Sherlock. Without proper preparation he's deliciously tight and John wants nothing more than to slam into Sherlock's delectable arse but as much as this is to resemble some kind of punishment John would never actually hurt Sherlock. It's a fantasy they both indulge in but Sherlock doesn't really get off on pain and John is no sadist either. Sometimes it's just the only way for Sherlock to get what he needs...

When Sherlock is finally firmly seated in John's lap, impaled on his big cock, both men take the time to gaze at each other. Sherlock's eyes are hooded and his lips are swollen but there is a serenity in his features that fills John with ecstatic joy. Sherlock's hard cock brushes over John's abdomen as he starts to roll his hips.

Sherlock whimpers. His foreskin is fully retracted and his glans shimmer nearly purple. He's leaking copiously onto John's skin and when John pulls him flush against his chest, trapping his cock between their bodies, Sherlock positively growls.

“Please, John, please...,” he chants but John is not finished with him yet. He looses himself in deep thrusts inside Sherlock's body, hitting his prostate over and over again until Sherlock actually sobs against John's shoulder, reduced to a boneless pile of want.

John finally feels inclined to show some mercy. He presses kisses to sweaty curls and grabs Sherlock's hips even harder before pounding into him once, twice, coming with a loud shout. Sherlock can only whimper, mumbling incoherently. John strokes his back, his quivering sides but Sherlock can't calm down; he desperately needs to come but can't.

“Sit up,” John huffs gently, assisting Sherlock with one steadying hand onto his shoulder. Sherlock leans back far enough for John to push one hand between them. It visibly hurts when he removes to ring but afterwards it only takes a few abandoned thrusts of Sherlock against John's body to climax. He's making a right mess onto John's belly and chest but John can't be arsed, because the blissed out calmness settling on Sherlock's face more than compensates John for being covered with sticky come.

John holds Sherlock close for some time afterwards; he's long stopped wondering what brings this on. He only knows that Sherlock sometimes just can't ask for what he needs. But John is pretty damn smart and will give it to him regardless.


End file.
